


Disclosed Desire

by Miss_SnowWhitePink



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Emotional Hurt, F/F, Romance, Teasing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-03 22:13:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/703200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_SnowWhitePink/pseuds/Miss_SnowWhitePink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything changes after the Christmas party in 221B Baker Street ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is AU after the Christmas party in "A Scandal in Belgravia".
> 
> The rating is for later chapters.
> 
> The title is inspired by the song [Undisclosed Desires](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R8OOWcsFj0U) by Muse.
> 
> This story is slightly inspired by the vid ["Your Innocence is mine"](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LyXVsy10gQQ) made by [Blondie0136](http://www.youtube.com/user/blondie0136?feature=watch).
> 
> As always all my love to [Mystradesexytimes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MystradeSexyTimes/pseuds/MystradeSexyTimes). You are the best, tulip!

“Oh, come on! Come on!” 

Molly rummaged through her handbag. Lipstick. Her purse. A water bottle. Why did she always have so much _stuff_ in it? The shrill ringtone of her mobile phone was taunting her from the depths of her bag. 

Was that the third biro she had in her hand or was it just always the same one?

She knew she really should start throwing things out that didn't work anymore.

And she would do that. First thing tomorrow.

 _Finally!_  
Her fingers closed around her vibrating and still ringing mobile. 

Second thing on her to-do-list for tomorrow: Figure out how to change that horrible endlessly long text alert.

Molly pressed the “read now” button triumphantly. 

But her smile froze when she read the text.

“ _Not-her-face_? Really, Miss Hooper?”

That was it.

No number. No name.

“ _Not-her-face_? Really, Miss Hooper?” 

That was all. 

***

When she finally got home in the early hours of Christmas Day, she was dead tired and so exhausted that she swayed on her feet. 

Molly let her bag and coat fall where she stood. She started to bend down to pick them up, but decided she'd just do it tomorrow. 

No. Today. Tomorrow was actually _today_. 

She sighed and stumbled to her bedroom. When she managed to make it without bumping into anything, she was actually a little proud of herself. 

But when she entered her bedroom, she realized that even though she tried, she didn’t manage to be quiet enough. 

Toby was looking at her disapprovingly out of the nest he'd made of her blankets.

Molly bent down to stroke his ginger fur. She smiled a little when Toby rolled onto his back and tried to chase her wiggling fingers with his paws.

“Sorry, little one, I _really_ have to sleep.”

As she pulled her red Christmas jumper, a gift from her aunt last year, over her head, she spared a thought to her sinfully expensive little black dress laying crumpled up in her bag at the door.

She really should go and pick it up.

The thought lasted about a second. Molly looked at her mirror. Through the door into her hallway. Then at her bed.

The moment she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, she coughed uncomfortably. And averted her gaze. 

She shuddered to remember how much of an idiot she'd made of herself that day. 

As she continued to undress, Molly tried to erase every thought about this stupid Christmas Eve, that absolutely stupid Christmas party, and especially that _absolutely_ stupid and embarrassing plan to wear that snug black dress out of her head.

She didn't know what the hell she'd been _thinking_ :

That she would tart herself up for Sherlock, pull up her hair, put on some make-up and suddenly he would notice her? 

Molly sighed, feeling defeated, and slipped under her covers. Toby meowed when he was dislodged from his comfortable nest. 

“Sorry.”

She tried to get that haunting memories of this night out of her head, but nothing worked. She was so tired but still… sleep wasn’t coming. The pictures in her head were chasing themselves. A mixture of glittering Christmas cheer and of the dead body of the woman she had to autopsy a few hours before.

People shouldn’t have to mourn someone on Christmas Day, she thought. Shouldn’t have to lose a loved one. Nobody should have to go through that.

Especially not Sherlock.

But was that what had happened? Was that woman whose body lay in the cold and sterile morgue- was she a loved one? Sherlock’s loved one? 

He hadn't shown any emotions. He'd nearly managed to win the competition with his brother about who had the iciest exterior today.

But what if the woman had been that? Sherlock's loved one? 

Molly didn't want to think about that… but she couldn't help it. Sherlock managed to recognize that body from… only in the darkness of her own bedroom was she brave enough to even think about it … from her breasts and her vagina and every bit of nude skin in between.

A tortured moan found its way out of her mouth. She tossed and turned, but nothing helped.

Her thoughts were off again. Spinning in the exact same circle. Taunting her.

***

God. How he had _looked_ at her as he'd ripped into her with his words, he'd pinned her with his cold stare. His deductions. Putting all her embarrassing feelings out there for everyone to see and judge. 

She had noticed the pitying looks John and what’s-her-name had given her. And Mrs. Hudson. Dear old Mrs. Hudson. 

And she hadn't even been wearing her beloved lab coat. The coat she used as her shield. Her armour against the outside world. As soon as she put it on she became Miss Molly Hooper- forensic pathologist. One of the best at St. Bart's. 

But tonight she'd wanted to be seen. Had wanted to be noticed by this man, who on his good days, made her feel like a little mouse, and on his bad days, made her feel like shit. 

What the hell had she been thinking?

Had she not spared one second to the thought that Sherlock would see through her in seconds? And he would likely use his powers of deduction to manipulate her to his liking?

Just like. He. Always. Did!

Molly started to punch her pillow, which led to Toby fleeing the bed.

“Yes. Of course. Leave me, too.”

She knew she was acting totally ridiculous at the moment, but she was just in so much pain.

It hurt so much and she wanted it to stop. She was disgusted with her own behaviour. 

It wasn't as if he hadn’t done that before. Ripped out her heart and stomped on it. But he had never done it in front of people. People she actually liked. And had to work with.

Well… 

Molly had a fleeting thought of Lestrade. The poor bastard. He was probably regretting the evening even more than she was. Or maybe he was actually happy that he could now leave that cheating wife of his for good.

She wondered if she would feel better if she thought about it in that light. 

That there were people out there, like Lestrade, who would end their marriage that night. They would have a fight, leave their house. Move out. Have to think about what will happen with the kids. All of that, on Christmas Day. 

Molly pressed her face into her pillow until lungs began to burn from lack of oxygen.

She suddenly gasped and rolled onto her back.

Her eyes traced the strips of light the street lamps outside painted across her bedroom ceiling.

She knew she should stop feeling sorry for herself. She was a grown woman for God’s sake.

And Sherlock did apologise. As soon as he saw her card. The card that she'd rewritten at least forty times. 

And he had kissed her.

Fleetingly. On the cheek.

Molly raised her hand. Her fingertips traced the little spot where she could still feel his lips caressing her skin.

When she closed her eyes, she could feel him near her. She could feel his body. His black curly hair grazing her temple. And she could almost smell the scent of his skin.

Clean and purely Sherlock.

Molly hands began to shake. 

This whole situation was so fucked up that she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

She knew she should have just listened to Meena. Molly could have kicked herself that she hadn't taken her friend up on her invitation to a Christmas party in one of the pubs they liked to meet in.

It would have been the better decision. Definitely. 

But no, she'd wanted to go to 221B Baker Street. She'd been excited about the invitation to the small party. Now she realized that it couldn't have been Sherlock who'd invited her. It probably had been Mrs. Hudson. Even John wouldn’t have spared her a thought. 

She'd seen the way Sherlock rolled his eyes as she came into the room. It was just the first of several times her heart would clench painfully in her chest that evening.

She should have just taken her coat and left, because it was clear things would just get worse. 

And to think that she'd spent so much time looking for the perfect gift for Sherlock. He probably hadn't even opened it.

She felt so stupid that she'd thought she could pull it off. She was a little grey mouse. It was nothing more than the truth. 

Sherlock had just made her see it clearly. 

Really, she probably should've thanked him for it. 

After a frustrated scream into the stillness of her room she decided to put it out of her head for good and refuse to think about all the things she “ _should have_ ” done.

She needed to sleep. What was it her mother always said to her?

“Tomorrow is another day.”

***

Molly spent the next few hours tossing and turning before falling into an uneasy sleep. Her dreams were full of nightmarish big black ravens that chased her in barren fields.

The rapidly moving birds were accompanied by a haunting sound.  
A whispery voice taunting her:

“ _Not-her-face._ ”

The chilly voice sent shivers down her spine. And then there was a ringing sound somewhere. 

Molly was so exhausted that she didn’t wake from her nightmare. 

She even slept through the foreboding sound of the “new text message” alert.


	2. II.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly comes home after work...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the lovely comments for the first chapter. :)
> 
> And thanks to [Mystradesextimes](www.mystradesexytimes.tumblr.com) for being your awesome, helpful self. Love you, tulip!

It was said that the world looks different after a good night's sleep.

Well, from Molly's point of view it was a lie. It didn't.

As Molly rubbed her dry and crusty eyes she avoided looking into her bedroom mirror.

She knew what she was going to see there.

The same thing she always saw.

Because the world _wasn't_ looking any different to her. It didn’t look different that day and it sure as hell wasn't going to look any different tomorrow. 

She was still the same mousy Molly Hooper she had been her entire life. Even a little black dress and some ruby-red lipstick couldn't cover that fact.  
Molly sighed.

She just knew the day was going to be awful. It didn’t take long before her mind was clouded with thoughts of the night before.

She groaned and collapsed back into her bed.

The memories came flooding back. And to make things worse, it was Christmas Day. Which meant not only did she have to complete her work (“Do not think about the woman. Everybody but that woman!”) but then she had to visit her mum in the afternoon.

So along with feeling like shit so early in the morning, now there was a feeling of crushing guilt, too.

Ever since her father died, her mum had really felt alone, Molly knew. She tried to visit her mum as much as she could, but there was work and Sherlock asking her for favours, and before she knew it, the day had flown by without her even sparing a few minutes to call her mother.

 

Molly hoped that at least her sister managed to wrangle her family (her picture-perfect family) to visit their mum. God, sometimes she hated Emma and her perfect little life. 

Molly took a deep breath and rubbed her face.

She allowed herself to have such dark thoughts only at this time of day.  
These few minutes at the beginning of the day belonged to herself and all of the depressing things that clouded her mind. 

In just a few seconds, she would take a deep breath, clear her throat, pinch her arm or cheek and crawl out of bed. And she'd still be dead tired, just like every morning. 

As she brushed her teeth, fixed her hair into an orderly ponytail and got dressed, she worked on putting her façade in place, too. 

With every practiced act of her hands, she rebuilt the Molly Hooper that she showed to the world. 

It would have to suffice until she could look into her mirror and see the girl with the smile.

And if on some days, the smile ended up looking a little bit crooked, well then she would just have to try a little harder next time, wouldn't she?

***

She managed to leave her flat before noon.

She was comforted by the fact that she wouldn't be too late for tea time at her mother’s home. Unless there were any problems, she'd have the autopsy of the woman identified as “Miss Irene Adler” finished in a few hours.

Molly slid her arms into the sleeves of her lab coat, feeling like she was putting on her armour.

It was the garment that she felt the most comfortable in. She liked that people seemed to have at least a little bit of respect for her whenever she wore it.

She rummaged in her bag again trying to find her mobile.

Since she'd met Sherlock, she'd developed a habit of carrying it with her at all times, even while doing her job. 

Molly considered for a fleeting moment that she should just leave her phone in her locker.  
He needed to know not to expect her to be at his disposal 24/7.

But then she remembered the look in his eyes the night before, when he had come to identify the body. As she'd watched him, it was easy pick up on the hollow sorrow as he identified the part of Miss Adler’s body that she had shown him.

Molly thought it over and sighed. 

Maybe he would text her if he needed her. Stranger things had happened.

“Oh God, Molly. Grow up!” she grumbled, regretting even thinking about such a thing. But she couldn’t even fool herself, because she still searched for the phone.

When she finally found it, she glances at the screen.

There was an unanswered message.

No number. No name.

The memories came streaming back into her mind like a flood tide.

The text message last night.

The taunting.

No number. No name.

She couldn't understand it. How could anybody even send a text message without it showing the number it had been sent from? 

The only person who came to her mind who she would think had this special skill was Mycroft Holmes. But she was pretty sure that he wouldn’t stoop so low as to taunt her via text messages. She always thought that he preferred to call anyway.

Molly’s index finger trembled as she pushed the little mail icon on her screen.

She took a deep breath and tried to stop the dark, foreboding thoughts from entering her brain.

Words filled the screen. Molly read them, and stared.

“ _You were trying to make him see you, Miss Hooper. You shouldn’t have bothered._ ” 

She read the message again. And again. 

She understood every word that she saw, but somehow her mind was not able to process the sentences.

“ _What?_ ” Her voice echoed in the empty tiled changing room.

Why would somebody send a message like that?

Fear and nausea filled her stomach. She felt sick.  
The timestamp showed that the message had been sent in the very early morning hours.

It had to be from someone she knew – someone in St. Bart's.

Otherwise, the sender wouldn't have heard her slight awkward question in the morgue or known anything about the Christmas party. 

Molly’s eyes flitted around the room.

Would one of her colleagues really send something so hateful like that?

Yesterday, she would have answered with a clear ‘No!’. But now she wasn’t so sure.

And then a horrible thought entered her mind:

What if it was _Jim_? 

He'd worked in IT. He would probably have had the knowledge of how to hide a phone number while texting. And he had her personal phone number. 

Molly pressed a trembling hand to her mouth.

And _she_ had been the one to break up with _him_. 

Could he have been one of those crazy stalker guys? It would be just her luck that she got into something with a man who first turned out to be gay and on top of that was a weird stalker. 

Maybe it would be better if she told someone about the messages?

Maybe Sh… Lestrade?

He wouldn’t laugh at her, would he?

But she knew he had family problems to deal with. He sure as hell didn’t need her problems on top of his own, right?

Maybe the messages would just stop today? 

The definitely would if they were linked to Sherlock. And they definitely wouldn’t if they were just meant to torment her.

“You shouldn’t have bothered.”

She could still see the words glaring up her even though the screen had gone dark minutes ago.

 _Well, I know that for myself now, don’t I? Of course I shouldn’t have bothered. I’m just me- mousy Molly. He will never notice me_.

Her inner voice sounded suspiciously like her mum's whenever she started one of her sermons about how empty and sad Molly’s life was. 

Sherlock only noticed women with perfect measurements. Like “Miss Adler.”  
Or women who were dead. Like “Miss Adler.” 

Molly sighed and slid her phone into her coat pocket.

She would just wait a few days before telling someone about the messages. Maybe they would stop on their own.

And, if she were totally honest with herself, the anonymous writer couldn’t write anything she hadn't already thought about herself in one point in her life. 

She would just have to remember that.

***

As she worked she couldn't stop the thoughts running through her head.

“What does she had what I don’t have?”  
“How did this woman manage to get Sherlock to notice her?”

Molly knew that she would probably never get the answers to these questions.  
Sherlock would never tell her, and the woman was dead.

From the state of her head, it wasn’t difficult to determine her smashed skull as the cause of death. 

Molly looked at the picture the police faxed over after her positive identification.

It was hard to believe that this beautiful woman had now been reduced to _this_. 

The moment Molly saw her picture; she remembered where she had heard the name “Irene Adler” before. It had been mentioned in one or two big scandals over the last few years.

Reading the society pages was one of Molly’s guilty pleasures.

And the stories surrounding Miss Adler had been particularly juicy.

In the next few seconds, Molly felt her blood run cold.

This woman was a prostitute. A dominatrix.

And Sherlock had been able to identify her from her… her…vagina (her mind rushes over the word)… alone.

Molly could feel the bile rising in her throat.

But whether it was because of the thought of Sherlock having sex with this dead prostitute or because of the shrill ringtone blaring from of her coat pocket, she couldn't say.


	3. III.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly's visit at her mom's house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always all my love to [Mystradesexytimes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MystradeSexyTimes/pseuds/MystradeSexyTimes) for your editing. Now all you have to do is kick me in the arse to begin the new chapter, please. :)

It was Meena.

The text message was from Meena, wishing her “Merry Christmas” and asking about all the “juicy gossip” from the party at 221b Baker Street.

Molly tried to slow down her racing heartbeat. 

God. Two text messages in under 24 hours had her terrified about every incoming message.

Methodically, Molly removed her blood-spattered latex gloves and washed and disinfected her hands. The routine movements helped calm her down.

She answered Meena’s text message the moment she stepped out of St. Bart’s. Molly needed the time to think about what she should say. Something inside of her was urging her on to spill every embarrassing detail. Put her wounded heart out there for her friend to see.

But she ended up doing the thing she always did: Writing a witty reply teasing Meena about her thirst for the newest gossip – and she wished her ‘Merry Christmas’, too.

Molly liked Meena just fine. And she was a really good friend if she needed fashion advise or just wanted to go out and have a good time once in a while, but Molly knew Meena wasn't someone you could tell your deepest secrets to. She was one of those types who would turn around and pass along the gossip to the next person who comes along before you could say: “But it’s a secret.”

Actually, telling Meena that something was a secret made her even more eager to talk to someone else about it. 

So it was probably the safest course of action not to give her all the details.

Molly didn't need half her friends talking about her behind her back.

It was bad enough that her family did that all the time.

And even worse: She had to go see them today.

Even though she was wearing her best black linen trousers and her newest red blouse, she just knew that the second she walked through the door, either her mother or sister was going to pounce on her for her attire.

Molly knew she would smile and nod, share a pained look over the table with Matthew, Emma’s husband, and drink a lot of wine.

It was the same thing every year.

But at least her nephew and her niece would be there, too. She was sure that one of them could show her how to assign different ringtones to different phone numbers.

The last thing she needed on top of everything else was to have her heart jump up into her throat every time she heard the phone ring.

***

As it turned out, tea and dinner with her family went exactly as Molly had predicted. 

The first thing her mother did was scold her for working on Christmas Day and missing the family lunch.

It was moments like those that Molly missed her dad the most.

Instead of criticizing her, he would have hugged her and asked about her day and whether she would like a drink.

And boy, did she need that drink after half an hour in her mother’s presence.

Then there was her sister. She and her mom ganged up on Molly, needling her about her nonexistent love life and how lonely she must be without a significant other.  
Molly simply listened to them talk over her head, not caring if she heard a word they said.

At least there were freshly baked Christmas cookies. Her female relatives were so busy reprimanding her that they didn’t notice when Molly took her eighth cookie. 

They were delicious and full of chocolate. She tried to tell herself that chocolate was soothing for her nerves. It helped a little. 

And there were presents, one for every person in the house. None were wrapped in ruby red paper.

Molly tried to get the thought out of her head, but it was too late. Every minute detail came to the forefront of her mind as she gave her neatly wrapped presents to her niece and nephew.

She saw _him_ standing before her again, in his immaculate suit and purple shirt, embarrassing her in front of his friends. 

_He was sorry in the end, though. You could totally see it in his face as he read your card. He was sorry. He kissed you on the cheek_.

That inner voice sounded suspiciously like Rachel’s from Glee.

The joy on her niece and nephew's faces when they opened her presents made it a bit easier to concentrate on the present and not let her thoughts linger in the unchangeable past.

Just when she thought that she could breathe easier, she heard her mobile signalling a new text message.

 _Please let it be Meena again. Please_.

Molly could feel the eyes of every person in the room at her back, following her out into the hallway where she had left her purse.

As soon as her finger slid over the screen, she realized her wish hadn't come true.

It was the same numberless messenger.

If she wouldn’t have to call someone to show her how she could delete the message without opening she would have done so, but she just wasn’t that technologically savvy. She really didn’t want to explain why she had to delete a message from someone without having opened it. Especially not to the kids, who had the most knowledge about smart phones.  
No. She was a strong woman, and she could take whatever was written in the new message.

Without a second thought, she pressed the mail symbol.

“No red lips today, Miss Hooper?”

Tears welled in her eyes as she recognized her own thoughts from a few moments earlier reflected in that message.

Who were these from?

Molly bit her lip to keep herself under control.

As she re-entered the room with glistening eyes and red cheeks, her sister just couldn’t help herself, making a comment loaded with innuendo. 

Molly was so fed up with everything: The whole messages/family/Christmas fiasco. She just sank down next to her nephew on the sofa and thrust her mobile into his hands.

Ignoring her sister and her snickering, she asked him to show her how she could switch the ringtones.

The boy, who had gotten all of his presents and was now bored out of his mind, was only too happy to help her.

So one good thing came out of the visit. She learned how to switch her ringtones.

***

When she finally arrived home, Toby greeted her by rubbing up against her leg. Molly took a deep breath and picked him up and carried him into the living room, where she collapsed onto the couch.

She absentmindedly stroked Toby’s ginger fur and let his purring lull her thoughts to a mindless buzzing. 

Tomorrow she would have the day all to herself.

No family and no work: as long as there was no one else who suddenly died and needed to be identified.  
She was looking forward to the quiet. That, and that she could sleep as long as she wanted. And eat what she wanted. And spend the day in her comfortable pyjama bottoms.  
But they flew open when her mobile began to ring. _Again._ This time, her heart raced because the sound came so suddenly.

Toby was not happy with her sudden movement, and jumped down from the couch. 

Molly looked after him as he left the room, and then turned her attention to her mobile.

The ringtone let her know that whoever was ringing her was someone she liked. 

With a sigh, she made her way to her bag to search her mobile. _Again._

Life was so much easier before these things existed.

Caller ID showed that it was one of her old friends from medical school.

The voice on the other end of the line was happy and euphoric as it spilled out Christmas wishes.

Molly answered accordingly, trying to sound as cheerful as possible.

Her friend tried to engage her in small talk, but Molly was just not up for it and ended the call as soon as she could.

Her bleak mood covered her like a blanket.

She knew that she should call her friends. Send them Christmas wishes. She usually did that every year. 

And Lestrade.

Should she call him? Ask if everything’s okay?  
Well, it probably wouldn't be. 

The depressing mood settled over her again and threatened to pull her under.  
She felt like such a shitty friend, but she was in such a dark place herself that she didn't even know if she could be her own friend at the moment.

How could she be, when obviously everything was going wrong in her life?

She felt as if she couldn't do anything right.

Every minute of every day proved that to her all over again


End file.
